The Poetry Marathon

Forever hold my peace?

Or forever hold my piece?

I object with yells and cries,

Im throwing knives instead of rice.

No, im not here for communion,

Im here to intervene this union.

No, sir i am not embarrased,

Ive freed the horses from their carriage.

I am here to set this straight,

To prevent this huge mistake.

She is not a righteous partner,

Shes been sleeping with the gardner.

All the yardwork done for free,

And that gardener is me.

Priest, dont interrupt me please,

I will never hold my peace.

Me and this woman have a past,

ive done more than mow her grass.

Trimmed the hedges, raked the leaves,

Then made love under the trees,

Everyday after Steve leaves,

Its been 1 year and 3 weeks.

 

So im here, on bended knee,

As enthrolled as i can be,

God is witness, all can see,

No one loves you more than me.

(Empathy comes from the crowd,

Even heard a clapping sound.

For the gardner spoke profound,

Even steven fell astound).

 

So, i hate to intefere,

But thats the reason why im here,

To prevent this ceremony,

And this union thats unholy,

 

Now we finally meet face to face, seems that fate has paved its course,

And from man-to-man i say this: steve, the baby isnt yours.

 

As he grabbed his lover’s hand, and the gardner turned to leave,

A man’s voice, calm and composed exclaimed, “Who the fuck is Steve?”.

 

As the gardner now confused turned and saw in ghostly fright,

He had never seen this woman before in his whole entire life.

 

This is not Saint Thomas the Appostle Church?

And the gardner filled with shame cursed his maps and google search.

silently apologetic, in a quiet tone he said, “my friend-

 

-could you imagine, i have to give that same speech again”.

 

Then he reached into his pocket, and he handed him a card,

“Call me if you ever need a gardner to mow your yard”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Im a fading phantom traveling in the wind

I am God related, jesus is my twin.

My eyes are soaked with streets of smoke,

The feel of having less is real.

Silence dies, the city cries.

I hear the songs of sacrifice.

Marihuana scented wiffs, a musky dusty bitter gulp.

Spitting verbage tuned composed.

The taste of poems fills the air,

William Shakespeare in BelAir

William Shakespeare is not alive

This prompt is ‘sus’, it made me lie.

Writing poems makes me fat,

Is it lie or is it fact.

“This train is not in service”

Devine pen defies time

By deleting every rhyme. I pressed rewind.

Look up in the sky, its the poet, he can fly.

This too shall pass us by.

One day we will die. But for now we live eternal.

“Como estas mi amigo”, whispers a cigarette.

Fading into nothingness, the dissapearing ghost.

 

Ive tried building poems like they were walls, that would withstand through the test of time.

But all ive done was constructed walls, that have trapped me inside.

 

Ive tried sewing and stitching words together that could shelter you from the wind,

but all i did was make padded walls, and straight jackets that tie me in.

 

Ive tried mixing and breaking down words and thoughts that could ease your pain,

But instead i made you feel worse, and made all that i speak in vain.

 

Ive tried cooking you food for thought, and word soup that will make you heal,

but you spat and you threw it up, Feeling empty and unfulfilled.

Ive attempted composing poems, that could break chains and set you free,

but they only confined you more, And imprisoned you with me.

Only close to death

We notice life.

Only in the dark

We miss the light.

Only when alone

I need you near.

Things you do not say

I seem to hear.

Only when I’m hurt

I seem to care

Only when I win

I think it’s fair.

Only when I’m down

You know it’s true.

It’s so sad to see you

When I’m blue.